


Gold Medal Gangbang

by Anonymous



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aftercare, Barebacking, Canon Compliant, Comeplay, Felching, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, istg this is a lighthearted fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 18:01:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15345420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is in for a surprise after he wins gold - a congratulatory gangbang for the medal winner!





	Gold Medal Gangbang

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged this underage because it's canon-compliant (as much as unrealistic porn ever is?) but no one's age is mentioned - feel free to mentally age up, I did!  
> And it is non-con, but like, porn noncon, where everyone is secretly into it and there's no consequences for anything.
> 
> Look, you know if you're into this stuff. 
> 
> beta'd by DiamondWinters, thank you!

The crowd is a roar of white noise in his ears. The arena sparkles as camera flashes go off in front of him and a few more flowers are tossed onto the ice. Yuri soaks it all it in with a fierce satisfaction. Tomorrow he’ll ache, but right now he feels incorporeal, the gold medal around his neck the only thing holding him down to the ice. He smiles a little and touches the medal, just the tips of his fingers brushing against it, just to remind himself it’s real. Gold in his first senior Grand Prix. He smirks a little. It’s an amazing feeling, being the best in the world. 

When the frequency of the camera flashes starts to slow and the roar starts to dim, Yuri skates off the ice with Katsuki and JJ close behind him. He lingers a moment at the edge of the rink, reluctant to let the moment end, but he can hear JJ skid to a stop behind him and he doesn’t want to make a big deal out of his win by holding everyone up behind him. He steps off the ice, takes his skate guards from Yakov and hooks them on, left foot then right. It takes him longer than it should to balance as he stands up again. He’s dizzy and lightheaded from his knife-edge of a win, and the floor moves like it does when you step off a boat and the land rolls underneath your feet.

Yuri takes a deep breath, feeling the cold, dry air of the rink fill his lungs. The crowd noise is down to a low murmur as spectators file out of the rink. He has a few minutes to collect himself, and then there will be a short press conference for the medalers down the hall. He starts to walk toward the locker room where he can get track pants and sneakers on for the press conference. 

“Wait—” Someone calls to him. It’s JJ, still behind him after getting off the rink.

Yuri turns, and before he can really react JJ takes him by the shoulder and leads him in the other direction, away from the conference and Yuri’s change of clothes.

“JJ, what the hell!?” Yuri snaps.

“It’s a surprise!” JJ says brightly. He shoulders open an unmarked door and crowds Yuri into what looks like a disused office. There isn’t much light, just what comes in through some narrow, frosted windows at the top of the cinderblock wall, but it’s enough to make out four close walls and an old desk in the middle of the room. The space in front of the desk is crowded and as Yuri looks around he realizes it’s the rest of the Grand Prix finalists in there with him - including Katsuki, who must have followed them in and closed the door behind him.

“What is this,” he asks, crossing his arms and bracing himself for something stupid. He remembers his impulsive shouting at Katsuki after last year’s event, and wonders if that is coming back to haunt him. He can barely move without elbowing someone, the room is that crowded.

Someone chuckles, probably JJ again being a dick, and then Christophe, who’s standing so close Yuri can’t see his face without tilting his head up, clears his throat and smirks. 

“This is your welcome to Seniors,” Chris says, his voice a seductive purr. “Congratulations, by the way. No one’s ever won it this young.” He slides closer as he speaks, until his body heat makes the skin all down Yuri’s side prickle with goosebumps.

“It’s tradition!” Phichit chimes in on Yuri’s other side, making him jump. “Whoever wins gold in the division gives it up for the rest of us. Call it a consolation prize, I guess?” He strokes a finger down Yuri’s arm then lets his hand come to rest against Yuri’s chest, firm and possessive. Yuri’s still processing what he said - give it up? The medal? - none of this makes sense - until Chris finds the zipper to his free skate costume and drags it, tooth by tooth, clicking open down the whole length of his spine. It’s the only noise in the room besides the rustle of clothing and deep breaths, and suddenly it all snaps into place. 

“The fuck!” Yuri shouts. He starts forward trying to get out of reach of the men to either side of him but Chris and Phichit grab him before he can get more than a step away and hold him still. 

“Shh,” Chris murmurs. He has one big hand on Yuri’s chest, the other holding his arm so tight it might bruise. Phichit on the other side is slighter but just as solid. Together they make quick work of Yuri’s costume, peeling it down with his dance belt until all he has on is his gold medal and his skates. Yuri still wants to run but with his costume like this he’s basically hobbled. His eyes flash frantically around the room until he finds Otabek.

“Bekka,” Yuri pleads. If only he had a motorcycle, he could stage a dramatic exit. Otabek doesn’t whisk him away though, just shakes his head minutely, dismissing Yuri’s concerns. 

None of this seems to be a surprise to him, but of course this isn’t _Bekka’s_ first senior Grand Prix. Yuri feels himself blushing fiercely as images flash through his mind of Otabek at last year’s final. Victor won last year, so he would’ve been here in Yuri’s place, bent over, naked, vulnerable. God if only Viktor were here tonight to take charge of things, if he were one of the men behind him— 

Yuri stops imagining when he realizes he’s feeling Chris’s arousal hard against his bare ass. 

“Relax,” Chris says. His hands stroke down Yuri’s back as if he’s gentling a nervous horse. Yuri hadn’t even realized how tense he was until he lets out the breath he was holding and his shoulders drop. It’s too much. He gives in right then, surrendering himself to whatever’s about to happen, trusting in his own strength, in Otabek’s calm certainty, in the other skaters’ care.

“Beautiful,” Chris tells him. One hand moves from the dip of Yuri’s lower back to tease a finger between his ass cheeks. “Don’t worry if it’s your first time,” he says. “I’m very good at this.” Chris brushes Yuri’s hair aside to kiss the nape of his neck. His mouth is hot, and damp like the air before it rains. Yuri can’t help the little moan that escapes his lips at the feeling. “It’s not,” he says, but no one seems to hear him. 

Someone must have gotten Chris lubricant. One finger pushes inside with barely any resistance as Yuri braces himself against the old desk. He’s just staring blankly in front of him, not wanting to think about everyone coming next, but out of the corner of his eye he sees Phichit hold up his phone. Yuri tenses again. 

Phichit seems him looking and gives him a thumbs up. “Call it insurance!” he says brightly. “No one can mention this without everyone going down for it.” And it’s true that Yuri had spent his whole life involved with skaters and he’d never heard a whisper of whatever this is happening at the Grand Prix Final. 

Before he can dwell on the video Chris distracts him with another finger in his ass. He pushes in deeper this time and Yuri starts to relax into it. It almost feels good, the fullness of it inside him. He rocks back a little, taking more into himself and then _fuck_ it does feel good. He lets out a surprised little moan as Chris chuckles and hits that spot again, sending another spike of pleasure up his spine. Yuri’s dick starts to take interest, perking up between his legs.

“Hurry it up,” JJ says then, completely ruining the mood. “You don’t have time to seduce him, someone’s going to come looking for us if we take much longer.”

“A shame, but he’s right,” Chris says, as if he genuinely regrets their circumstances. He pulls his fingers out completely, leaving Yuri feeling oddly empty.

Yuri knows what’s coming next. He braces himself on his forearms, inhales sharp and short as he feels Christophe line himself up against his ass. His cock feels huge when it enters him, splitting him open and pushing deeper than Chris’s fingers could reach. Chris moves quickly but not impatiently, hips thrusting with a building rhythm that pushes deeper and deeper until his balls slap against Yuri’s thighs. Yuri keeps expecting something to hurt but it’s _good_ the way it fills him, rearranging his body for Chris’s pleasure while stoking his own. Chris finds his cock and tugs it in time to his thrusts but Yuri’s barely hard when Chris cries out behind him and comes.

“Over too soon, mon cherie,” he says as he stills, then pulls out. Yuri can feel jizz trickle down his thigh as he withdraws but he doesn’t have any time to think about cleaning up before someone else is inside him. 

“Smile,” Phichit says behind him as he hands the camera off to JJ. Yuri bristles but there’s nothing he can do, just let his head drop so his hair hides his face a bit. JJ holds the camera with one hand, the other stroking himself off without any kind of finesse. He grunts when he finishes, spattering Yuri’s side with hot, sticky ropes of cum. Phichit doesn’t take much longer, hips twitching in short, frantic thrusts as he comes. 

Yuri can feel it this time when Phichit pulls out — the skin around his rim is hot and swollen, his ass is starting to bruise where he was grabbed. He whimpers, overwhelmed and hurting, when Otabek steps up and fingers him. Otabek stills for a moment, then bends down to mouth at the nape of Yuri’s neck as his fingers start moving again. Yuri whimpers again, but Otabek’s mouth feels good, and when his hand finds Yuri’s nipple and pinches, that feels even better. While Yuri’s distracted Otabek presses his cock in with one easy push. Yuri winces once but the pain fades as he adjusts to the movement, and Otabek starts to tug him off which goes a long way toward distracting him from any lingering discomfort.

The hand on his cock is slippery with lube and pleasure quickly builds in Yuri’s groin, heat spreading deliciously between Otabek’s hand and his cock thrusting inside him. Yuri finds himself rocking back to meet his thrusts, and the _slap slap slap_ of skin against skin sounds extraordinarily loud, echoing off the bare walls of the little cell they’re in. He’s getting so close when Otabek grunts into his hair and pulls him roughly back against him, thrusting one more time and then staying deep as he can as he comes. Yuri tries to keep fucking, but Otabek lets go of Yuri’s straining cock and pulls out, leaving him gasping and cursing without him. 

“You’re doing good,” Otabek tells him gruffly before he steps back again, and the praise makes Yuri’s cheeks heat more than anything else has so far. 

It’s Katsuki last, and Yuri wonders if he’s been hanging back due to nerves or if Katsuki was waiting to wreck him once everyone else is finished.

“Took you this long to get it up, Piggy?” Yuri asks over his shoulder once Katsuki’s been shuffled to the front of the crowd. It feels stupid, like taunting a bull, but he’d rather piss someone off and show he’s got some fight in him than roll over and take it. Metaphorically, anyway, given when he’s currently doing. 

Katsuki just smirks insufferably and grabs Yuri by his hips, flipping him onto his back and lifting his ass onto the table in one strong motion. Yuri’s gold medal thumps heavy onto his chest and he has a moment where he can’t do anything except stare up at Katsuki, leaning over him stripped to the waist. The other skater is flushed and shiny with sweat, and his silver medal hangs low enough to almost rest on Yuri’s chest. 

“I beat you,” Yuri says stupidly, like Katsuki doesn’t know. It’s just all that goes through his mind at the sight of that silver medal. He did it. He’s here on his back with three loads of cum in his ass because he got fucking gold at his first Senior Grand Prix. 

“This time,” Katsuki says calmly, as if it really doesn’t matter, and takes his dick out. Catching a glimpse of it, Yuri wonders if it’s a blessing he didn’t see anyone else’s before they fucked him. Katsuki looks huge as he lines himself up, his dick flushed dark and curving gently up from a wiry nest of curls, and even after everything he’s taken so far Yuri gets nervous feeling it press against him. It slides in easy though, the noise it makes an obscene sucking squelch as more jizz spills out between them. 

“You’re a mess,” Katsuki says critically. He pulls back slowly and pushes back in, forcing another slick glob of lube and cum out around his cock to drip down Yuri’s thigh. He thrusts again, just as slow, and again, and Yuri wants to _scream_ with frustration as Katsuki takes his damn sweet time. He’s already wound tight from Otabek’s poorly timed release and each careful stroke from Katsuki’s cock pushes him a bare millimeter closer to the edge.

Yuri has to stop a perverse urge to kick Katsuki with his heels like a horse in the hopes he’ll go faster. He can’t give the other skater the satisfaction of knowing how far he’s gotten under his skin, how much this is affecting him. His own cock is stiff against his belly, twitching in time with Katsuki’s maddening thrusts, and finally Yuri gives in to the urge and wraps a hand around himself. 

He pretends not to see Katsuki’s self-satisfied smirk and drags a hand up his shaft. He lets himself let go and react to the feeling, moaning and arching into it, and thrills when it makes Katsuki’s hips stutter, losing their rhythm. Katsuki picks up his pace and Yuri chases him, forgetting the other men in the room as he rocks his hips, trying to get Katsuki to come even as he chases his own orgasm.

They come nearly simultaneously, Yuri so hard he practically whites out. When he comes back to himself, chest heaving and skin buzzing with it, Katsuki has already pulled out. He has the arms of his costume back on but the back still unzipped, and he looks just as wrecked as Yuri feels. He hands Yuri some paper towels, a blush painting his cheeks. 

“You need to clean up,” he says, and turns away so Yuri can wipe between his legs with some illusion of privacy. 

—————

It’s awful, sitting through the press conference with lube and who knows what else leaking out of his ass. Yuri’s never liked answering questions but tonight he’s even more short tempered than usual, and he leaves as soon as he sees a chance. As he walks toward the locker room he’s hyper aware of the slickness between his legs. Hopefully no one out there notices if he’s walking a big more gingerly than he normally would. He never even had a chance to take his skates off.

Viktor silently catches up to him as he nears the locker room door, and follows him in. 

“What do you want, old man?” Yuri grumbles, not meeting his eyes as he digs in his bag for a clean pair of pants and, hopefully, a towel. 

“How do you feel? Sore?” Viktor asks. 

Yuri shoots him a glare. “I skated perfectly,” he says defensively. “Nothing I haven’t trained for,” he says. 

“I wasn’t asking about that,” Viktor says, and Yuri’s heart stops for a second when he realizes what Viktor’s really asking about. 

“I’m fine,” Yuri says, his voice tight. It’s a lie. His ass hurts, he needs a shower and a change of clothes. But he doesn’t really know how to tell Viktor that without breaking down, so he doesn’t say anything. 

Viktor comes up behind him anyway, one warm, comforting hand on his shoulder. “I know what happened,” he says. “You know I know. I wish I could have been there for you, but at least I can take care of you now, can’t I? Is that ok?”

And fuck, all Yuri wanted was for Viktor to have been in that room with him, he can’t tell him to leave now. He nods, lips tight and expression hard, knowing he probably looked like a pissed off cat but Viktor doesn’t seem to mind. Viktor steps away to lock the door, then tells Yuri to sit. He does, gingerly, on one of the long benches in front of the row of lockers. Viktor kneels and unlaces his skates and pulls them off. Then, “Up,” he says. He has Yuri turn around, and slowly unzips his costume. 

It’s so much like what Chris did to him earlier, but it’s better now, just the two of them, less like having his skin peeled off and more like shedding something unwanted. Yuri doesn’t move, staring blankly at the wall of lockers in front of him as Viktor takes care pulling each sleeve down, then pulls his costume down past his waist. 

Yuri lifts each foot to step out of it. Viktor is kneeling behind him now, one hand warm around his right ankle, and Yuri shivers as that hand trails up his leg as Viktor stands. 

“You’re still so wet,” he says, his voice thick. Aroused or disgusted, Yuri isn’t sure, and he doesn’t dare turn around to look at his face and see. Viktor makes him shift his weight, and moves him to lift one foot onto the bench. He swipes a finger through the slick coating Yuri’s inner thighs. It’s starting to get tacky now, and it pinches when it catches hairs. Yuri winces, and Viktor rubs a soothing hand down his hip.

“Let me clean you up,” he says. Yuri nods. He expects Viktor to get a towel, some wet wipes, but instead Viktor thumbs between his ass cheeks. Then there’s a sighed breath on the tender skin between ass and thigh, and hands holding him apart, and a hot tongue licking over the swollen skin around his rim. 

Yuri yelps and tenses but he doesn’t move away, and when he relaxes again a second later Viktor licks him again. Yuri reaches out so he can brace himself against the lockers as the gentle heat of Viktor’s mouth cleans him up like a cat licking her kitten. If he just focuses on the sensation, on the soothing rhythm of it, he can almost forget Viktor Nikiforov has his face in his ass. 

He feels Viktor pull his ass cheeks apart even wider and his lips against the rim of his hole. It feels like a kiss, like a bite almost. Yuri whines and pushes back without thinking. He feels empty now, reminded of the one man he hasn’t had today that he really wanted, and he doesn’t know how to ask for it but if Viktor knows, if Viktor can tell…he pushes back again against Viktor’s tongue, feeling it slip almost inside him, and whimpers when Viktor jabs it in him. 

Viktor sucks at Yuri’s skin, a sharp, wet feeling, and then Yuri realizes he’s pulling lube and cum out from inside him. It’s the most embarrassing thing that’s happened to him so far tonight.

“Viktor that’s gross,” Yuri mumbles into his arm, not really wanting it to stop but hardly able to admit what’s happening. Viktor just spits quickly into a towel pulled from someone’s gym bag and sucks again. 

“I don’t want anyone else inside you,” Viktor says after his second mouthful. He presses a finger against Yuri’s hole where he tongue was and pushes inside. It goes easily, two knuckles deep, probing as if to check if there’s anything left inside. If there is, Yuri can’t feel it. He can’t feel anything besides Viktor — his finger, his breath on Yuri’s skin, his presence behind him.

“I wish it had been you,” Yuri whispers, so quietly he thinks maybe Viktor won’t hear, somehow still scared to admit how much he wants this out loud. 

Viktor’s hand - the one not knuckle deep inside him - clenches on his skin, and then between one breath and the next Viktor’s standing behind him, pressing his hard, still clothed dick against Yuri’s ass.

“I will” he says, his voice deep and guttural. “If you want it — I didn’t want to take advantage, but Yuri if you want it —” he pushes, thrusting his hips forward and scraping his stupid fucking wool suit trousers against Yuri’s sore ass. 

Yuri can barely think with how much he wants it.

“Yes,” he sobs out. “Do it, yes, _fuck_ , yes.”

He hears Viktor tear his belt and his fly open, spit into his hand and rub it on his dick. Yuri’s hole is already wet and when Viktor’s dick presses against him, hot and fat, it hardly takes anything to push inside him. Viktor splits him open, one slow stroke until his balls are pressed against Yuri’s skin. His tie brushes against Yuri’s back. He’s hot, even through his shirt Yuri can feel him, and his breath runs over Yuri’s shoulder like a caress. 

Viktor rocks against him. In the silence of the locker room Yuri can hear their skin move against each other, sweat sliding and sticking. He pushes back against Viktor, trying impossibly to take him deeper, and whimpers as Viktor pulls out a fraction and eases back in. He fucks him like that, deep and thorough, until Yuri’s legs are trembling and he think he might actually explode. It takes only the lightest touch of Viktor’s hand along his dick and he’s coming harder than he ever has in his life. 

When he starts to come back to himself after, his cheeks are wet and his chest is heaving. He gulps in air, suddenly aware of sweat dripping down his back and how weak his knees are. 

“I need to clean you up again,” Viktor says ruefully as he pulls out. Yuri hadn’t even notice him come.

Yuri blushes, thinking about what _clean you up_ meant last time Viktor said it, but this time Viktor does find some wet wipes, and the towel from Yuri’s practice bag, and points him toward the showers. 

“Do you want me to stay?” Viktor asks. With his fly buttoned back up, he almost looks like nothing happened if you don’t notice how much his lips are swollen. 

Yuri considers it, but no. His head is clear, he’s feeling good in his skin again. Viktor will just get annoying if he hangs around. He shakes his head, and tells Viktor he’ll be fine. 

Viktor starts to leave, but at the last minute Yuri calls for him to wait. He doesn’t want to leave it like this. He doesn’t want the last Viktor sees of him this tournament to be a moment of weakness. 

“If you actually pull off a comeback,” Yuri says, “Maybe next year you won’t have to wait to have me.” He smirks as he watches that sink in. Viktor’s eyes go wide, then he huffs out a laugh. 

“If you say so,” he says lightly. “I think with me and Yuuri on the ice you’ll be lucky to medal at all.” He smiles, laughs, and lets the door close behind him. 

Yuri stares after him for a minute, then goes to the showers, exhausted but proud. Gold in his first Grand Prix _and_ Viktor Nikiforov. Katsuki will be so jealous, he can’t wait until he finds out.


End file.
